Words

My words always make a mucky mess of things

Stumbling and falling, tipsy like drunks from my lips

Chains and welds hold strings of jabber binding

Whilst my mind chases bubbles in the wind

Stagger and swagger of a well-to-do lush

Throwing phrases like money, meaningless and flashy

Leaving sad little puddles of desperation in their wake

Empty as the promises of youthful summer love

Longing yet forgotten, by the hands of the clock

My words always make a mucky mess of things

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